Untitled
by solelessboots
Summary: An impulsive venture sparked off by mad ideas in my head that refuse to go away. Think one-shots of Naomily in the most cliched and random settings in the history of mankind. Inspired by Mike Resnick's Seven Views of Olduvai Gorge, but not much to do with science fiction.
1. Chapter 1: Laplace's Demon

**A/N: so i was writing the bonus chapter for my other story and then there was this wave of ideas that came tumbling down on me (pun unintended). "never push inspiration away when they come," says my brain. so there you go, a nonsensical concoction that doesn't really make sense. basically one-shots to fulfill my urges of writing naomily in strange settings. i'm not taking it seriously, so you shouldn't too. this chapter is just an introduction, the stories will start next chapter.**

**if any of the content makes you feel uncomfortable, please, just don't read it?**

* * *

The little demon swallows back his saliva as he peers hungrily over his sunglasses at the trail of beautiful, young angels who are walking by ahead.

Sweet Lord, that's one thing good about hanging around here. You never run out of hot babes to ogle at. Feeling cheeky, he lets out a wolf whistle directed at the angels, prompting giggles to erupt in the group as the gorgeous and immortal ladies throw amused glances his way.

The devil grins and lies back in his lounge chair with a satisfied smirk, basking in the warmth of the sunshine as he takes a sip of marguerita from the cocktail glass beside him.

Hmmm. Existence is good. He could really do this for eternity. Literally.

"Demon!"

OK damn it. Why is happiness always so short-lived? Existence sucks.

"Yes, Master," Demon cries out with feigned obedience as he springs up from the lounge chair and stands in front of the figure with his head bowed low, pretending to look as uncomfortable as he can.

He has this figured out once: masters do nottake a fancy to seeing their servants and slaves being all snug and comfy. Servants, being servants, got to be working their asses off every time the master sees them. Otherwise, how can a servant be called a servant? It's like seeing a dog that doesn't bark, or a fish that doesn't swim. It irritates the hell out of them sadistic bastards.

And now that his master has caught him in his full hedonistic glory this time round, Demon knows he's in for some deep shit that will take at least three days of bathing in chamomile flowers to rid the smell of.

"What in all the possible universes have you been up to?" Master yells so hard into Demon's ears he thought someone was thrashing on his eardrums with real drumsticks. Demon gulps. The old man's veins are popping out in his forehead and it isn't a really pretty sight. Demon knows one can't find medication around here, but seriously, this old chap needs a chill pill.

"N- Nothing, Master," says Demon sheepishly. "I was just thinking of chillin' for a bit after finishing the last task you gave me," Demon continues, hoping the credit he has for finishing his last task will serve to appease his Master a little.

"You've got some guts to be mentioning about the last task? I've just gotten several complaints from some gods and goddesses that you screwed up their toilets real good! Instead of making the waste go away via the pipes, they are going out the OTHER WAY now!" hollers Master in fury.

"But, how could that be? I did manage to unblock the pipes and test the flush the other time-" the poor little demon asks, confused.

"You're asking me? Why don't you try and explain it to Hera and Ceres instead, who both got their faces splattered with faeces this morning? I knew you little imp couldn't be trusted with such an important task like that," Master says as he seethes with anger.

"Anyway," continues Master. "I had a meeting with the rest of the gods just now. We all agreed that we should let Fiend take over your job and transfer you instead to Storage," adds Master quietly.

"WHAT? NO! I don't want to go to Storage!" cries Demon in panic.

Fiend is the only other devil who was dug out from the depths of hell together with Demon. The both of them are arguably the only ones from hell who ever got to see what "heaven" (or whatever they call this place) was like and enjoy it in all its eternal beauty and glory.

Of course, there ain't no such thing as a free lunch, even in heaven. Fiend and Demon were brought here for a specific reason; to do all the dirty jobs for the gods and goddesses around here. That includes repairing and maintaining the toilets; running stupid, physically taxing errands that the gods themselves are lazy to do; clearing mountains of wastes generated every day by spreading them across all the possible universes. (There we are, naively thinking that gods don't generate wastes. All those leftover foods from the feasts don't just disappear into thin air, do they? They _have_ to go somewhere.) Mostly in black holes, but occasionally, Demon burns them in space. Ever seen all those flaming balls of things out there in space? Glittery stuff that fill up the sky in the absence of light? That's right, incinerated chunks of heavenly garbage.

Yet, for all the dirty work that Demon has done, he doubts that they are any worse than the work done in Storage by Fiend. No, they are in every way _much better_ than the work in Storage. Basically, the work in Storage is to sort out every single object that is found inside and record them in the inventory. Sounds like a pretty easy job, compared to unblocking sewage pipes, you say? Well, it's tempting to think like that, but here's the thing: There is A HELL LOT of things in Storage. And when we say a hell lot, we really mean _a hell lot_.

You see, Storage is so named because it stores _every single thing that has been created by the gods and goddesses in all the universes they have created out there. _And trust us, that's quite a bit of stuff to sort out.

Now it's easy to see why Demon prefers his job to Fiend's job any day. Sorting those items will take an eternity, not that there is any problem in where they are right now, but Demon swears he will go crazy working in Storage.

"Since when you've got a say in things around here?" asks Master in a dangerous voice.

"Please, Master," Demon furrows his brows in desperation and pleads. "Could you give me another chance?"

"I _am_ giving you a chance now, Demon. You'll redeem yourself by working in Storage. Either that, or you go back to hell. Now quit whining and follow me," answers Master unsympathetically as he turns to walk off.

Demon has no choice but to follow meekly behind.

* * *

It is true that devils have no tears but Demon swore he almost cried when Master opened the door to Storage.

The mountain of objects that lay haphazardly before him stretches from the floor all the way up to the… Wait a moment. THERE IS NO CEILING. Demon's neck almost broke on the spot as he attempts to lift his head up and look for the spot where the tall pile of objects extending upwards ends. It doesn't seem to.

Demon starts panicking when he realizes that the "room" has no walls as well. Everywhere he turns he sees a chunk of objects, another chunk of objects, another chunk of objects…

Demon felt his knees go weak and he collapses into Master's arms.

"Get a hang of yourself, you moron!" shouts Master as he slaps Demon on his head.

"Master Laplace, please… please don't throw me here! I'll work hard on the toilets in future, I promise," wails Demon exasperatedly.

"I can't do anything, Demon. This is the decision of the board of gods and goddesses," says Master, as he looks Demon stoicly in the eye. "Besides, this is only temporary-," he adds.

Demon's face lights up at the word "temporary". "Really? I won't be doing this forever?"

"Well, that will depend on your performance. If you do this job well, I may be able to get you back to clearing wastes and such," says Master quietly.

"That's just awesome!" Demon can't help yelling as he jumps up and down and attempts to hug Master, who is giving him a stern look now. Demon stops leaping but he is unable to suppress the smile on his face.

"Tell me what I'm supposed to do now, Master. I'll start right away!" Demon says enthusiastically.

"Well," continues Master. "First up, what do you know about Storage?" asks Master.

"It… stores objects?" ventures Demon.

"You're not even trying, are you, Demon?" Master says with a roll of his eyes.

"Uhm, it stores objects that are left behind in a universe at the end of time in that universe?" Demon says uncertainly.

Master sighs.

"When the gods decide to create a universe, they first do up a plan. They plan the entire course of events that will happen from the very first point that universe comes into being, until the point when they decide to dissolve the universe into non-existence."

"Which means, at the beginning, before anything even happens at all in that universe, the gods already have a blueprint for what is going to happen. They know every single shit that is _going to_ take place."

"And to make sure that the events will go according to the way they want it, they imprint every atom that they create to put in this universe, with a Fixed Path."

"I've lost you," says Demon, scratching his head.

"The Fixed Path is the path that an atom is pre-determined to take from the start of time, to the end of time. It shows you the precise location of that atom at every point in time. For example," continues Master as he picks up a molecule of water from the pile of objects and examines the tag on it. "This water molecule's Fixed Path says that it will start by being part of the ocean, and then one day it will get evaporated and fall as rain. Then it will be absorbed by a tree, and stays in the fruit of the tree. The fruit gets eaten by an animal, and the water molecule is absorbed by the animal, which is then eaten by another animal. So on, and so forth. The fixed path says that at the end of time, this water molecule ends up being trapped as part of an iceberg."

"Wow…" Demon's jaws fall open upon hearing the explanation. He knew that Storage is full of old, useless stuffs, but he didn't know they each had a story of its own.

"What happens is that at the beginning of time, the gods create everything that exists in the universe. Over time, the objects transform according to what their Fixed Paths dictate, and at the end of time, they remain the final form that they transformed into. These final objects are kept in Storage as an archive for that specific universe."

"But what do you need me to do with these final objects, Master?" asks Demon with a curious stare. "They are no longer needed anymore, are they?"

"Well, that's the problem. All the objects you see here are the final objects, but they have not gone through their Fixed Path yet," says Master.

"What? I don't really understand, Master," says Demon.

"The gods kind of screwed up this time. They were going to start up a new universe project, called Universe5683. But instead of creating the objects as they originally are supposed to be at the start of time, they created the final objects instead," explains Master.

"So the universe kind of ended before it even started?" asks Demon.

"Something like that. And now, they refuse to give up on the project, saying that it is one of their greatest projects undertaken or whatever. They want to try and reverse the Fixed Path to make the objects to their original forms, so that they can "reboot" the universe again and they want you to help."

"Seriously, Master. The gods think too highly of me. Me? Reversing Fixed Paths? If I've had such great powers I wouldn't be stuck here cleaning toilets…" began Demon.

Master shoots Demon a stare that shuts the latter up.

"The gods are giving you the powers to enter every one of these objects in its final form and travel back with it to its very original form via its Fixed Path. The objects can't go back to their original form themselves, they need help to go backwards on their Fixed Path. And you will help them with it," says Master.

"I don't understand, Master. Why can't the gods do this themselves?! Wouldn't it be faster?" asks Demon.

"Theoretically, yes. But look at the number of objects we have here. It will take them forever to do it. And they are not going to spend all day possessing objects and following it back on its Fixed Path to its original form," explains Master.

_Yet they want to salvage their stupid Project Universe5683. So I'm the one who does this dirty job. You gods and goddesses are really angels, aren't you?_

* * *

Demon sighs as he lies flat on his stomach amidst the mountains of objects that lay around him. For the past (Hour? Day? Decade? You know, it's really difficult to keep track of time in this eternal place.), he has been plunging into items and bringing them back to the start of time via their Fixed Paths. And what strange sights he saw in this bizarre Project Universe5683! He saw things flying around in the air, heard loud blaring noises that he had never heard in his entire existence, met creatures that resemble the gods and goddesses very much, but were dressed really strangely. No wonder they had wanted to salvage this project. It was a very interesting universe indeed.

As Demon lies on his back with his arms tucked behind his head, his eyes catches sight of something shimmering in the pile of objects next to him. He reaches out instinctively and pulls the item from the stack of nonsense. That's when an awful crash rang off somewhere far off and the next moment, Demon is lying under a whole pile of stuff.

"Awww man, I just sorted out that pile according to time period!" Demon grumbles.

Not moving from where he is, Demon pulls his hand out of the pile and stares at the object in his hand.

The first thing he notices was that the Fixed Path tag is gone. Holy shit, he will have a fun time looking for it in that pile later. But something else about that item catches his eye. It is a rounded metallic material, with a huge circular hole in it that you could look through to the other side. After "hanging out" in Project Universe5683, Demon has seen enough weird objects to be convinced that the creatures have the strangest things which they use for the strangest purposes ever.

What in the world could this item be used for?

Demon arches his eyebrow as he catches sight of some sort of script on the inside of the object. He recognizes the letters; they belong to this language that the strange species used to communicate with one another – English. He had learnt to read the language after his countless journeys back in time with the objects (one of his objects was a lead inside a pencil in a children's school at one point in time). Demon furrows his brow hard as he makes out the letters.

"L… Y… F…"

_EMILY FITCH_, it reads finally.

_What in the world does that mean? _

Usually, Demon will ignore things he can't understand and throw the item back into the pile. But this time, he seems to feel a magnetic attraction towards that object in his hand. It makes him want to know about its story.

He glances briefly at the mountain of objects on him. Well, there's no time to look for that tag right now.

Demon decides that he will find out for himself.

* * *

**A/N:** if you're still baffled, in essence demon will possess the ring (yes, that's the item he was holding) and go back on its fixed path along the course of human history to provide us with glimpses of... *tada!* naomily! in, ahem, different eras and settings and the strangest places.

disclaimer: like i've said, this story is written purely to satisfy some of my experimental writing urges and to loosen those nerves. the writing's not quality (it never is with me, anyway) and if you are uncomfortable with the content (mention of gods etc), again, PLEASE DON'T READ IT. thanks!


	2. Chapter 2: The Night Butterfly

**The Night Butterfly**

Place: Amsterdam, The Netherlands

Time Period: Early 21st Century

Object: Metallic fountain pen

* * *

**Emily POV**

It's the summer three months after the accident that claimed Rachel. Kyle, Sid and Tracy are worried about me, and they insist that I take a week-long trip with them up north to the Netherlands, instead of cooping myself up in the apartment all the time and letting my thoughts run wild. A change of environment will do me good and help me move on; that's what they said. But they don't understand. I don't want a change of environment. I don't _need_ a change of environment. The only place in the world I want to be is in _our _apartment, our home, where I can still feel Rachel's somewhere close. I want to sit in our couch and watch those videos I've taped of her over and over again; the videos in which she's doing her favorite things – painting, cooking and reading with that pair of glasses that look fucking cute on her, where she's forever laughing and dodging the camera shyly, only because she's no idea how beautiful she is. I want to see her smile and hear her voice again, even if it's through a fucking TV screen. I want to lie in our bed, close my eyes and smell her scent in the sheets and pretend that she's still there beside me. I want to do all that, even if it fucking kills me every time I open my eyes and she's not there. Because God knows how fucking much I miss her, and I don't ever fucking want to move on.

Going away for a week means no "Rachel and me" delusional bubbles for seven long painful days. Naturally I refused to go with them at first. Sid wouldn't hear of it. Kyle wouldn't take no for an answer. I stood my ground. In the end Tracy threatened to move in with me. That did it. I couldn't possibly let her move in and spoil everything I was doing to keep Rachel alive in my mind. So I said yes.

And now, here I am, thousands of miles away from my apartment in London, standing right on the outskirts of the infamous red-light district of Amsterdam with the lads beside me. Sid and Kyle had suggested checking out the tourist attraction earlier during dinner, and Tracy had scoffed asking what was there to see anyway, and she'd be damned if the boys weren't really looking for some action instead. She returned to the hotel alone after I said I wanted to join the boys and see for myself what all the fuss was about. The truth is, I didn't want to go back to the hotel and be stuck with Tracy listening to one of her counseling talks again. She'd been doing that every night since we left London, and honestly, it was getting on my nerves. It wouldn't have been so bad if that droning voice of her that went on and on had been able to get me to fall asleep, something I had a hard time doing in a long while since Rachel died, but no, all it managed to accomplish was to amplify that screaming voice in my head and keep me more awake than ever.

"Uhm, Emily…" Kyle begins in a slightly awkward tone as we stand at the entrance to an alley dimly lit with neon red lights and filled with men weaving past one another.

"It's ok, Kyle. You and Sid go ahead. I'll walk around and make my way back to the hotel later on my own," I reply, reassuring him with a little smile.

"You sure?" Sid adds with an obvious tinge of guilt in his voice.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. Come on, I'm not a kid anymore. You guys deserve a break after taking care of me for the past few days. Go on, shoo," I say quickly, shoving them both off into the alley.

The lads look uncertainly at me, but I don't give them a chance to say anything more as I turn and walk off in the other direction.

A few streets down, I'm drawn inside an alley with similar neon red lights like the one before. The alley is lined with glass doors each a few steps from the next, all of them revealing a tiny room behind. The rooms are illuminated in all sorts of colors - blue, green, purple, red – some of the doors are veiled by a curtain.

I jump out of my skin as a figure appears suddenly behind the glass door I'm walking past. The lady behind the glass door is throwing seductive glances at me and beckoning me over with her gorgeous nipples. I'm standing rooted to the ground at a loss as to how to react when I realise abruptly that she isn't winking at me, but at a bald, middle-aged man standing behind me.

As I blush and take off in embarrassment, a commotion somewhere not far off catches my attention. Some men are gathered outside one of the doors further down the alley, and two of them are engaged in a heated argument with each other while negotiating with the lady inside. An idiot would have guessed that they are fighting over the girl inside. Truth be told, the ladies in this district are mostly young and good-looking, and judging from the length of this alley I'm standing on, they don't lack in abundance either. This girl in question has got to be some kind of Angelina Jolie of the Amsterdam Red-Light District or something, to be warranting a fight between two dirty old men who can easily pass off as my granddads.

I weave through the crowd to get a glimpse of the girl and see for myself what the deal's about, and as I finally get to a few meters behind the men and my eyes fall on her, my heart stops beating.

If I'd told Kyle and Sid about it then, they would tell me that it was the three shots of vodka from dinner playing tricks on my eyes. Tracy would no doubt freak out at once and tell me that I needed to get some rest, like always. No one will believe what I'm about to tell them.

Because the lady with the naked torso leaning against the door frame as she watches the two men fight over her in mild amusement, I swear to God, is Rachel.

I know I must be seeing things but it's hard not to believe my own eyes when she's standing right there in front of me. I can't take my eyes off her as she lights up a fag in her mouth and smirks triumphantly to herself.

Platinum blonde locks. Those pale blue eyes with a life of their own. Unconscious lip-bite when she's deep in thought.

It's really her. My heart squeals repeatedly inside me.

For a fleeting moment I dare entertain the thoughts that my girlfriend didn't die in that car accident after all; that the person in the casket at the funeral wasn't really her; that it's all been a horrible nightmare and now she's found alive and well, in the streets of the capital city of the Netherlands.

Except that I know the woman behind that glass door isn't really her.

My Rachel's sweet, kind and adorably innocent. She would never be caught strutting around in what the woman's wearing in a million years. Neither is she capable of those flirtatious glances the said lady's throwing the old men outside her glass door now. This woman might look very much like Rachel on the outside, but I know she isn't her.

Still, I can't help but feel a sudden surge of anger in my veins as I watch a trail of young Asian men walking by scan her body over with their leering eyes, as if she's some product on display.

I can't bear to think of how one of the two men negotiating with her now will be pawing all over her body with his filthy hands later in the night. The thought of it just kills me.

I know I really have not thought it through as I march over and push my way through the group of men.

"How much does it cost to keep you for the entire night?" I ask as I stand facing the lady at the door and look her straight in the eye. There is an obvious silence as the men eye me curiously for my unexpected interruption.

It's taking me all I have not to burst out crying as I stare into those beautiful blue eyes that I've missed so much for the past three months.

The eyes stare back at me quizzically. A few whistles erupted amongst the men behind who're watching. The two men who were negotiating previously hadn't said a word; out of the corner of my eye I can feel their murderous glares on me like they want to tear me into shreds on the spot. Not that it would have stopped me even if they had done so. I'm taking this deal home tonight, and I'm doing it whether I end up in pieces or not.

"You're… you're a woman," says the lady as she looks at me questioningly, her brows arching slightly in surprise.

"Yes, I am. Is that a problem?" I ask, trying hard to keep my cool as I look at her straight in the face.

"Well, not really, no," she adds quickly. "It's €800 for an entire night, one position. If you want different positions, or use additional tools, you've to pay more."

"I'll take it," I say, without batting an eyelid. I hear a few gasps behind me.

"Very well," she says as she gazes at me and breaks into a seductive smile. Turning to the two men who're obviously seething with anger, she smiles patronizingly as she announces, "Sorry, guys. As you can see, I'm packed tonight. Come back tomorrow to look for me?"

There are a couple of grunts of disappointment as the crowd disperses and she opens the glass door to let me in and pulls the curtain behind us. There is a purple fluorescent light bulb perched on top of a table at a corner of the room, next to a mobile phone and cigarette stubs in an ashtray. Next to the table there's a single bed with just a pillow on top. No blankets, no quilts. Sleeping is evidently not meant to be the activity carried out on that bed.

"Payment first," the lady says as she stands at the door and lights a fag, not looking at me.

I rummaged through my purse and dug out a handful of €100 euro notes. It's almost half of all the Euro currency I've exchanged for this trip. Her eyes light up at the notes in my hand, and her expression changes suddenly from indifferent to earnest as she takes the money from my hand and realizes that it's the real deal with me.

"So," She mutters softly as she removes the only piece of clothing on her body and flings it onto the bed. "How should we do this? I have never served a woman before. Is it like, scissoring or fingering or what? You'd have to teach me," she adds with a wink.

I look back at her and I say nothing. Up close, she still looks like Rachel but it's easier to see the differences now. Her nose's slightly sharper than Rachel's, and Rachel's face's a little rounder than hers. Other than that, the resemblance is uncanny. It's unbelievable, how can two persons who aren't identical twins look so alike?

"Hello?" A hand waving in front of my face jerks me out of my thoughts. I turn to her; she's tilting her head and giving me one of her quizzical looks.

"What's your name?" I ask out of the blue, ignoring her question from before.

"Huh? Oh, hmm, Natalie," she replies in a casual tone upon thinking.

I look her in the eye.

"That's not your real name, is it?"

"Nope, it isn't."

"I'm Emily," I say, after a moment of silence.

"OK."

The air in the room hangs still as we have this bizarre exchange while she stands buck naked a few metres away from me. As I gaze at her, I can't help thinking that it's Rachel standing before my very eyes, alive and within reach once again. I feel my tears struggling to escape my eyes, as all those months of loneliness in my apartment trying to pretend that Rachel's still alive hit me like a tornado, and now, it's as if the nights of wishing and praying really worked to bring her back to me at last.

"So, how do you want to do this?" she asks again after a while, still looking at me and waiting patiently.

I fumble to form the words in my mouth.

"Could I please hug you, just for a while?"

She stares at me as if I've just made the strangest request in the history of mankind.

I don't wait for her to reply before I march up to her and fling my arms around her back. I squeeze her tightly as I feel her smooth, bare skin beneath my fingers. Not a single day in those three months have I not craved this embrace. As I shut my eyes and rest my head in her bosom, pretending that it's Rachel I'm holding in my arms, I finally let the emotions take over and sob like a baby for the first time since the funeral.

* * *

A hand is stroking the back of my head gently and the body in my arms feels stiff. My eyes fly open and I realise that I'm on a bed and I've fallen asleep. In the arms of a stranger. Feeling embarrassed all of a sudden, I withdraw myself from the body and hurriedly wipe off the half-dried tears on my face with my sleeve.

"Whew, any longer there my arms might have to be amputated," the woman says with a smile as she stretches her arms in a bid to loosen those muscles. There is no malicious intent in her words.

I get off the bed hastily and stand before her, wondering for a moment how in the world one should react after bawling their eyes out in the embrace of a naked stranger and falling asleep in her arms.

"Got your heart broken, eh?" she ventures a guess, as she leans back nonchalantly with her hands behind her on the bed. If she's feeling in any way conscious about her tits and fanny being in full view of me, she is doing a flawless job in hiding it.

"It's my girlfriend. You look a lot like her," I say, trying to focus on her face.

"Let me guess, she's left you for another woman," she says with a knowing look on her face.

"She died in a car accident," I say quietly, before swallowing back a lump in my throat. Saying it out hurts more than I'd thought it would.

"Oh," she says with her eyebrows raised. I can't tell from her expression if she's surprised or pitying me or feeling awkward at the revelation that she resembles my dead girlfriend. Maybe it's a mixture of all three.

"I'm sorry for just now," I say apologetically, gesturing at her arms.

"Nah, there's no need to be. You've paid for my time, and my job's to please you in whichever way you want," she says casually with a smile, like she's only a sales assistant in a shoe shop who has helped me with choosing a pair of heels.

I feel myself blush a little as I stand there racking my brains to think of an appropriate response.

"OK, thank you," is all that I can manage.

"Do you want to get some action?" she asks suddenly. "You could imagine me to be your girlfriend. It doesn't bother me," she adds, eyeing me intently.

"No," I shake my head immediately. That would be so wrong, on so many levels.

"I don't understand. You've paid me for an entire night and you only want a hug from me?" asks Natalie, clearly confused.

"I'd never wanted anything from you in the first place. I just… I just couldn't bear the thought of those filthy men…all over you," I confess, suddenly feeling like the weirdest freak ever to walk the face of the earth.

"I think I can understand. You're taking me to be your dead girlfriend?"

I don't know how to answer that.

Theoretically, I know that Natalie is not Rachel. But I can't explain why I feel so uncomfortable at the thought of Natalie having sex with other men. I guess I do take her to be Rachel on some levels.

"You don't want to have sex or want anything from me," she says as she gets up from the bed and walks over to the table and lights up a fag. "What do you want to do then?"

I shrugged my shoulders. I don't know why but I feel like I'm making things difficult for her now. What kind of crazy person visits a hooker and doesn't want sex? No wonder she seems at a loss as to what to do with me.

I look up and notice that Natalie's smiling at me from the other end of the room now like she's thinking of something.

"Why are you smiling at me like that?" I ask.

"I'm thinking in all years of working as a hooker, you're one of the most difficult clients I've ever served," Natalie says teasingly.

I smile. "You should have seen it coming from a woman," I reply, chuckling slightly.

Natalie's blue eyes seem to be dancing as she lets out a genuine, hearty laugh. My breath hitches at the sound of her laughter.

"There's one thing," I say finally, after thinking for a while.

"Uh huh?"

"You could lie next to me on the bed and we could just sleep."

"You mean sleep, as in really sleeping?"

"Well, I haven't slept properly in months… Ever since my girlfriend died. And you, you seem to have some magical powers in getting me to fall asleep," I say gingerly.

Natalie blinks slowly as she nods her head at yet another one of my strange requests.

"I know I'm really one fucked up person," I say, lowering my head embarrassedly.

The next thing that happens comes as a total surprise. Natalie slowly walks up to me, tilts my chin upwards, and kisses me gently on my forehead.

"You're one good soul who's had some nasty things happened to her, that's all," she says softly as she gazes into my eyes.

"By the way, don't say what you just said to my prospective clients though, I'm not sure if they'd want to hear that I make people fall asleep in bed," she jokes with a wink.

"Also, I'm thinking you'd want me to wear something while we cuddle, huh?" Natalie says before disappearing behind another curtain in the room. A few minutes later, she emerges in a T-shirt with a cartoon pig in front and a pair of shorts.

"Ready for bed?" Natalie announces with a huge smile on her face. I can't help but notice how different she feels from a moment ago. Just a few minutes before, she was the object of the darkest sexual fantasies of countless men with her killer body, gorgeous tits and seductive mannerisms. Right now, she just feels like a cute girl-next-door with an endearing smile.

I catch sight of the pig and a smile breaks out on my face.

"Oi, don't judge! I think it's cute," Natalie pouts a little as she notices I'm grinning. "Come on, let's get you some sleep," she adds, her arm extending outward and beckoning me to bed.

I walk over to the bed and lie down on my side. I feel an arm slipping around my waist as Natalie pulls me closer to her and encases me in the warmth of her body.

"Jesus, I can't believe I'm getting paid for sleeping. This is officially my favorite work night ever."

My lips twitches into a slight smile as my eyelids droop slowly shut. The last moments before I drift off to sleep, I hear Natalie whispering into my ear.

"Sweet dreams, Emily. Sweet dreams."

* * *

It's our last night in Amsterdam and I'm walking the streets by myself to get some quiet time alone. As I walk along the canal, I realise that the city's really beautiful at night. The bright colorful lights from the rows of houses and shops reflecting off the waters are reminiscent of the vibrancy of the city's nightlife itself. Someone once told me, Amsterdam is one of the most open-minded cities in the world. It's all about freedom and possibilities and living your life the way you want it, and there is hardly any room for judgment here. I, for one, am thankful to Amsterdam for one of the best nights' sleep I had in three months.

I haven't gone back to find Natalie since that morning I left her room to go back to the hotel. Tracy had jerked awake the moment I opened the door to our hotel room, and she gave me a good dressing-down for spending the night out and not telling her of my whereabouts. She went on and on about how I made her worried sick and I told her (rather harshly) that I knew what I was doing; that she didn't have to keep an eye on me around the clock. I could tell she was upset by my words, but I couldn't even make the effort to comfort her anymore. Because honestly speaking, I was getting sick of everyone fussing over me. I was getting sick of plastering a fake smile on my face and pretending I'm alright so that I don't get all those pitying stares and concerned faces from people. It's just so tiring to put up a brave front for people when in reality you're hurting inside, and I didn't want to do it anymore. I guess that's precisely why I felt the most comfortable in the presence of Natalie, a complete stranger, ironic as it is. Because she wasn't anyone to me, I didn't have to try and keep up with appearances.

Tracy demanded to know where I was the night before, and I lied that I'd spent the night sitting at the port because I'd needed some time alone. I can't imagine what her reaction will be if I'd told her where I really had been, even though I didn't do anything with Natalie other than sleep. Tracy's always been the staunch Catholic and the morally upright one in our group, and she tends to have a rather narrow view of what good and bad morals are. And that point was duly proven by our conversation during dinner just now. Kyle and Sid should have known better than to discuss their sexual escapades the other night during dinner. In any case, Tracy was pouncing on them at the first chance she saw.

"You guys do know you're going to hell for that, right?" Tracy says solemnly while chewing on her steak.

"What? You mean having sex with a hooker?" asks Sid.

"I mean, having sex with anyone who's not your wife," replies Tracy.

"Oh, come on, Trace. We are not living in the Victorian era now. Pre-marital sex's so common nowadays," says Sid casually.

"Just because it's common doesn't mean it's right and it's not cheating," says Tracy matter-of-factly.

"But Sid and I aren't even attached or married. How in the world can you consider that as cheating?" asks Kyle with an eyebrow raised, clearly amused.

"Oh, don't even get me started on married men who cheat on their wives. That's the worst lot of its kind," says Tracy with an obvious tinge of disgust in her voice.

"There you go," says Sid with a cheeky smile as he clinks wineglasses with Kyle. "We're evil, but at least, we aren't the worst lot of our kind," he adds with a mischievous grin. Kyle laughs as he takes a sip of wine.

"If I'd my way, married men who cheat should be chained to horses and have their bodies pulled apart in four directions," says Tracy without a hint of emotion in her voice.

"Ooh," says Kyle with a wide-eyed expression on his face.

"Seriously, Trace. You're one scary woman. God forbid you ever rule England someday as an overlord," says Sid teasingly.

"Whatever," says Tracy as she rolls her eyes at Sid. "These men totally deserve it. Those hookers who tempt them are not much better. In fact, they are worse," she adds.

My spoon pauses in mid-air as I hear what Tracy has just said.

"Worse? How so?" I ask, glancing sideways at her.

"How not? For goodness' sake Ems, they are tempting the men to sin by using their bodies to cloud their judgment. If it weren't for them, those men wouldn't be cheating on their wives," says Tracy.

"Hey, hey. That's unfair. If those men have the heart to cheat, they would find some way to do it anyway," I retort.

"Still, the fact that there are hookers out there provides men with a readily available option when they feel tempted to cheat. If there wasn't a supply of loose women out there, these men wouldn't be able to do much anyway," Tracy states.

I look at Tracy in disbelief.

"Demand creates supply, Trace, that's what the laws of economics teach us. These women are only trying to earn a living," I rebut.

"What kind of living is that, Ems? There are so many ways to earn a living. Why choose one that breaks marriages up and leaves kids with broken families?" Tracy argues.

"Perhaps they have reasons. Maybe they're forced to do it by the circumstances in their lives. Not everyone is as privileged as we are, Trace," I say quietly.

"Maybe. But I've seen these girls. They are not sleeping under bridges or homeless or anything. In fact, most of them dress like supermodels. I just can't imagine why one would sell sex in exchange for money so that they can buy their Gucci and Prada. It's just not right. If they've accepted God into their lives, they wouldn't be living in this way," says Tracy.

"I don't think they _want_ to do this, Trace. I don't think any girl in this world actually likes selling their body and having sex with someone they don't love at all if they had a choice," I shoot back, my anger rising slightly at the fact that Tracy had once again brought out her trump card to win the argument – God.

"Well, these hookers have a choice, so why are they still doing it?" retorts Tracy.

"Woah, woah, woah," began Sid as he and Kyle watch our exchange nervously. "Chill, girls. Let's not get all upset about something that doesn't really concern any of us and spoil dinner, shall we?"

I shoot Sid a death glare and he draws back in surprise.

"I've had enough," I say, standing up. "You guys enjoy your dinner," I take a couple of Euro bills from my purse and place them on the table, before walking out of the restaurant.

I realise suddenly I'm standing at the ports. My short walk to calm myself down after that argument with Tracy had turned into an hour-long walk that brought me to the edge of the city. I am standing by the railings taking in a deep breath of the salty air when I hear shouts behind me. I spin around just in time to see a girl in a tight, figure-hugging dress running past me with her heels in her hands. It doesn't take me a moment to realise that it's Natalie.

"Natalie," I call out.

Natalie stops abruptly in her tracks and turns to me in a swift motion, before hurriedly looking behind her. That's when I realise somewhere far off behind her, a man in a tight, flowery shirt is chasing after her and yelling in a language I presume is Dutch.

"Emily," Natalie pants, as she recognizes me. "Please help me!"

Natalie hurriedly runs and hides behind me as the man catches up and shouts something I can't understand at Natalie, his arms threatening to hit her.

"Wait a minute," I say as my arms go up instinctively to shield Natalie from him. "What's going on?"

"This slut here, she owes me money!" says the man menacingly.

"He's lying!" Natalie retorts loudly while still hiding behind me.

"She rented a room from me yesterday night and now she refuses to pay me!" yells the man.

"No, I didn't! I already told you I didn't want the room anymore because I couldn't work yesterday!" Natalie shouts back.

"Don't you dare fuck around with me! We had an agreement that you'll rent the room for a week. That's seven nights of rent, and I will not accept one night less!"

"But I didn't even use the room last night! No way I'm paying for it!"

"That's none of my fucking business whether you use it or not! You've only yourself to blame for being too fucking lazy to work!" the man hollers.

"I was taking care of my sister! She was ill!" Natalie shouts back indignantly.

"I don't give a fucking damn! Listen, if you don't pay me today, I'll spread the word about what a fucking evil liar you are and you can forget about renting any of the rooms in the district," the man threatens.

"Hold on," I say suddenly. "How much does she owe you for renting last night?"

"150€," says the man, as he eyes me intently.

I rummaged through my purse.

"Wait, no, don't pay him-," Natalie says in an alarmed voice as she realizes what I'm doing.

"I've only got 130€ with me," I say as I whip out a wad of notes from my purse. "That's all I have left. Take it or leave it," I say to the man.

The man takes the notes and glares at Natalie, before muttering something in Dutch and walking away.

Natalie turns to chase after him but I grab onto her arm.

"Why did you give him the money? I didn't even use the room last night!" Natalie yells exasperatedly at me.

"Just let it go, you don't have to pay me back," I say.

"It's not about the fucking money! I didn't use the room, why should I be paying for it?" Natalie says, her voice mixed with indignity and anger.

"He was threatening to put you out of business. You don't want to risk that, do you?" I reasoned in a calm voice.

Natalie's eyes seem to soften a little as my words sink in slowly.

"I'll pay you back the money," she replies quietly.

"I wasn't just saying it when I said you don't have to," I say, careful not to sound obnoxious.

"I insist," says Natalie.

"I'm leaving Amsterdam tomorrow," I say.

"Give me your bank account number, or your address, or whatever. I'll row a boat to return it to you even if you're staying in Antarctica."

I take out a used receipt from my purse and scribble my bank account number with a pen I always bring along with me before giving it to her.

"You know, the fact that we're hookers doesn't necessarily mean we are all money-grubbers and like to take advantage of people," says Natalie as she takes the receipt from me.

"I've never meant it that way," I say, trying to hide the hurt in my voice.

Natalie shrugged her shoulders. "Just saying."

There is an awkward moment of silence as we stand there by the railings and look out at the ships bobbing up and down on the waters.

"Do you ever wonder if Rachel's the only one for you?" Natalie asks suddenly. Her question shocks me, not only because it comes out of the blue, but also because I don't remember telling her Rachel's name.

"You were calling her name while you were sleeping the other night," she says, seeing the surprise on my face.

"Well," I begin, not really knowing how to answer her. "I guess I don't wonder. I always knew she's the only one."

"So I presume you're not going to look for someone else in this lifetime?" asks Natalie.

I say nothing. Strangely, I have not thought of that before. Rachel was my first and only love in life, and I've never imagined spending my life with someone else other than her for the rest of my life. Even after she's gone, I've been too overwhelmed with sorrow to think about what is to become of me; whether I'm destined to live the rest of my life alone and aimless. Natalie's question really got me.

"I don't know," I say finally.

"Isn't it scary," says Natalie as she turns around and leans back against the railings, her hair flying slightly in the cold night wind. "If there is only that one person in our lives who's meant to be our soul mate? What happens when that person leaves you one day? Does that mean you would never find happiness in your life again?"

I keep silent as I think over Natalie's words.

"Have you had one of those?" I ask.

"A soul mate, you mean?" Natalie questions.

"Yeah."

"Nah," says Natalie with a weak smile. "I had quite a few boyfriends, but none of them was a soul mate. At least I don't think any of them were. I was especially in love with one of them though. He was a kitchen assistant at one of the restaurants in the city. I met him in the supermarket; how cute is that, right? I felt he could really understand me despite our differences and he was really sweet to me and all. We broke up after dating for a few months though. He couldn't take it that his girlfriend was fucking other men every night," she adds. "He thinks that I'm earning filthy money."

I stare at the ground in silence.

"You know what's the irony of it all?" asks Natalie.

"I'd bought him a motorcycle for his birthday with the filthy money I earned selling my soul to the devil," she says as she laughs bitterly.

I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness as I gaze quietly into Natalie's pale blue eyes.

"Hey, hey, no pitying looks, okay?" says Natalie as she catches me looking at her. "I know people who will think, "poor wretched soul" when they hear about what I work as. I know people who tell me that I'm going straight to hell after I die. But it doesn't bother me. I chose this life myself, and I'm prepared for all the shit that it's gonna throw at me."

"I'm sure there's a good reason why you're choosing this job," I offered.

"Unfortunately, no. I wish I could say I'm doing this because someone pointed a gun at my head to do it. I wish I could say that I'm doing this to pay for the medical fees for my terminally ill mother or so that I can feed the six children I have at home. But I don't. I'm just a girl who's unlucky enough to be born in a family where the mom's run away with another man and the dad's an alcoholic bastard who turns violent when he's drunk. I'm just a girl who's decided to run away with her sister and was naïve enough to think that they could easily build a life for themselves together. But you know reality is something else altogether. When you've barely graduated from high school it's hard to find a job that lets you live comfortably. I could live on the streets for all I care, but I wasn't ready for my sister to suffer with me. Not when I'm the one who took her with me when I ran away."

"I'm not exactly proud of what I'm doing, but I'm proud that at least I'm supporting myself through my own means. At the very least, I don't steal, rob or con to buy those bags, shoes and all other useless stuff that I like," Natalie adds with a little chuckle.

I look at Natalie intently. Even as I study her expressive, blue eyes and the features on her face that reminded me so much of Rachel the other night, I don't see her as Rachel anymore. I see her as one of the bravest people I've ever met in my life. I see the fierce love she has for her little sister as she talks about her. I see in her eyes the determination to live life according to her own standards, not through the judging eyes of society. I feel so much admiration for this woman, even though I've not known her for long.

"Sorry for pouring all that out on you," remarks Natalie suddenly. "Seriously, I don't know why I did that. I usually keep these things to myself," she adds, her face revealing a slight hint of embarrassment. "I guess you have magical powers that can make me talk, just like how I can make you fall asleep," she says jokingly with a wink.

"My pleasure," I say with a smile. "I'm only glad I can do something for you in return for the best night's sleep ever the other day."

"Now, you're just exaggerating," Natalie says with a laugh.

"I'm being absolutely truthful here," I reply.

"OK, in that case, I shall accept the honor," she says as she does a little curtsey. I snort uncontrollably, and it makes the both of us erupt into giggles. "Hmm, maybe I should consider being a nanny," Natalie adds, her brows furrowing slightly as she appears to be deep in thought.

"You'll make one hot nanny," I say with a grin.

"Yeah, it's not good for the kids if I make them nose-bleed all the time," adds Natalie cheekily, which makes bowl over in laughter once again.

"Anyway, thanks for helping me out just now," says Natalie suddenly, smiling as her eyes meet mine.

"Huh? Oh, that, don't mention it," I say with a kind smile.

"Aren't you afraid that I might be in cahoots with that man and we're both putting on an act to con you of your money," Natalie asks suddenly.

"That never occurred to me, honestly," I say, scratching my head a little. "My only thought was to help."

Natalie eyes me thoughtfully. I arch my eyebrows puzzledly at her.

The next moment, she leans in and plants a kiss on my right cheek.

"You're a really wonderful person, you know that?" she says gently, her soft eyes smiling at me. "Your girlfriend was lucky to have met you while she was alive."

I gaze at Natalie gratefully and I try hard to fight back the tears. Somehow it is comforting to have someone tell me those words. To know that even though Rachel had died young and I'm left alone now, it's true that we both shared so many beautiful moments together and impacted each other in ways that others will never understand. To know that neither death nor separation would be able to change that.

"You'll find your soul mate one day too, I promise," I reply, meaning every word I say. I don't know why I say that, knowing obviously that I'm in no position to promise anything. I guess all I was thinking at that time was a lovely girl like Natalie deserves to find her true love someday too.

"Maybe," says Natalie with a smile. "Maybe one day I'll find someone who will love me for who I am. But maybe not in this life. Maybe in the next," Natalie's eyes are smiling as she says that.

I only nod repeatedly as I look at her.

"Well, I gotta go now," says Natalie as she glances at her phone. "How about a goodnight hug? This one's on me," she says as she winks at me mischievously.

I smile widely and lean forward into her open arms. We hug longer than it's cursory, longer than I normally would an acquaintance. But truth be told, Natalie feels nothing like an acquaintance to me. She's healed me with her presence in two nights, more than anybody else had managed to in three months.

"Don't quit looking okay?" Natalie says as she withdraws from the hug and looks me in the eye. I stare back at her quizzically.

"For happiness, I mean," she adds with a genuine smile. "I'm sure she would love to see you happy again from where she is."

My lips curl into a smile as I hug her again. "I'll see you again some time, Natalie," I say, as I withdraw from the embrace, knowing full well that I'd probably never see her again. Natalie only smiles as she turns and walks away in the direction where she came from.

As I watch Natalie try to put on her heels as she walks off in the distance, she suddenly turns around.

"By the way, it's Naomi," she shouts over with a grin on her face.

I stand there dazedly, trying to figure out what she means.

"My real name's Naomi," she says with a wink before turning back with a chuckle and disappearing into the crowds.

I stand there smiling to myself. I can feel that things have taken a subtle turn inside my confused, broken heart and I'm almost certain it's for the better. For that, I'm thankful to have met Naomi.

I hope she finds someone who loves her for who she is one day.

* * *

**A/N: **so, there, my first one-shot! i hope it wasn't half as bad as you expected. and yes, i said i'll do naomily one-shots, but i've never said that they will be a couple or have a happy ending together in every setting. :p now, now, before you start throwing virtual daggers at me, i think i might have planned at least a few one-shots where they will walk away into the sunset holding hands. I THINK. i'm not sure. anyway, feel free to leave a review telling me what you liked, what you hated about the piece. i'm all ears.

and sorry for being long-winded but i feel i have to do this disclaimer thing again because i am/will be threading on so many dangerous grounds with my stories: i write these stories purely to relieve some of the nonsense ideas that go on in my head and they're never meant to offend. if any of the content mentioned annoys you though, please, please, and for the third time, please, do me a favor and don't read it. i also don't appreciate religious and political comments in my reviews. thank you.

by the way, the title of this piece, "night butterfly", is a euphemism for sex workers derived from the indonesian phrase, "kupu kupu malam." i'm not indonesian but i liked this euphemism the best out of all those that i know of, so i chose it for the title.


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